


The Imposter

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 01:09:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When the team is the target of a group of opportunists, Garrison and the guys are shocked to find their own methods being used against them.   And if the intel the villains give their handy look-alike is more than a bit faulty, well, Goniff could have warned them about that.  Hadn't he found out firsthand just how likely, just how dangerous that could be during that little episode in Lisbon?   And when a smug outsider decides to use the events to get in a little heavy-handed 'lecturing' of his own, he finds his efforts vastly underappreciated.Some arcane doings (with a noble assist from Chief), a good smattering of old-fashioned retribution, some eye-opening moments for various of the team members - well, it's one for the books, alright.





	The Imposter

They said his skills were tailor made for this job, they were right.  
They said he looked enough like him to be his brother, they were right.  
They'd said he should have no problem getting in, they were right. They said no one would ever know, and few would care.  
Well, as to that . . 

He met the contact at the appointed place, and was taken by jeep, no conversation, no commentary, nothing but an appraising side glance or two. {"I would imagine he has his orders, though it does make for a rather boring ride,"} he mused, then shrugged his shoulders, using the time to review all he knew, all he had to do. They'd given him the complete file, all the relevent information they had, and they swore it was quite complete, quite accurate. He knew he had all his background information in place and memorized, names and descriptions of the people he'd be meeting for certain, as well as those perhaps not certain but likely, and even a few of the more unlikely ones, ones he'd most likely not come into contact with but whose names and positions he'd be expected to recognize when mentioned, how his character interacted with each of them - well, as much as they could tell from the outside, of course, and they didn't have anyone on the inside; that rather seemed the whole point.

He was good at this; he was a professional, and he quite looked forward to the challenge. His appearance was appropriate, if not his usual impeccable self, looking down at his clothes in some disgust. {"Well, at least I match his appearance. Not my taste in clothing, to be sure, and the fit is atrocious; I do not like that color of hair on me, and I only hope I can get my complexion back to the right color because this is just not flattering, but I DO match. At least the eyes were already the same color; they have a very long way to go to make those new artifical lenses wearable, in my opinion!"}

He'd also had to drastically change his eating habits these past few weeks to accommodate the slight but apparent weight difference, though there hadn't been enough time to do as much as really needed along those lines, {"fellow must eat like a bird!"} but it helped, he knew; a bit of stage makeup helped too. One had to suffer for one's art, he'd been told once, and he supposed they'd been right.

He knew the physical layout of the building, at least prior to their moving in, what he was to accomplish, the timetable for all parts of the operation. He'd studied pictures, some film they'd gotten somehow, tapes of his voice, {"now THAT's a challenge! I'll be better off saying as little as possible. It's not so much the accent, or the vocabulary, that's just like learning any other character, but the unusual timbre of the voice, that's more than a bit difficult!",} read the file, even watched him from a hidden spot on more than one occasion, just to be sure he got that walk right, those other movements and gestures, facial expressions.

{"Odd, that."} Somehow, to his professonal eye, what he was watching seemed almost like a performance of its own, ever so slightly exaggerated, not quite a caricature, but close; though of course that made it even easier to pick up all the bits and pieces, all the 'stage business' that would make this work. {"Pity it's not a play; this could be rather an amusing character with the right script; not the lead, of course, unless maybe Henry VI with a comedic twist, but a good second perhaps, comedy relief; he'd make a fine Puck, for example. Might have Charles take a run at that once this is all over,"} he chuckled to himself, thinking of his playwright friend.

He rather prided himself on his ability to cast nearly everyone he met; he thought of it as both a professional talent and a game he played with himself - {"who would they be if I met them onstage? What character would I have to assume to play opposite them?"}

The hardest thing would be the fact that this chap was a bit of a specialist, and in areas he most certainly wasn't. Oh, well, he'd figure that out as it came; a bit of impromptu came with a lot of the roles he played, and it wasn't as if he were going out to actually DO those specialty tasks, just act as if he could do them when called upon.

The other bit of difficulty, well they had images of him walking, moving, but none when he was simply at rest, especially his hands; that was a tricky thing at best. Seeing this one in action, though, you had to wonder if he ever was at rest, or if he was in constant motion; it certainly seemed that way, someone in a constant fidget. And, of course, he'd have to remember to be very careful when he smiled; there were two or three smiles that would work, the others would give him away, so he'd just have to be careful. There was one he intended to stick with, as much as possible, totally innocuous; yes, it made him look a bit simple but that seemed authentic as well. Cunning and skillful this one might be, but no brain child, certainly. Luckily from the file he seemed a rather superficial sort, no real depth, no close friends, no particular female interest, no one to spot those little personal, intimate things that could give you away.

He remembered the warning by his employers - 'The important thing is for you to carry this off without being spotted as an imposter.' {"I really could have laughed when they told me that, as if that wasn't quite obvious. I'm an actor, for heaven's sake; I know not to break character, start quoting Macbeth when I'm supposed to be playing Hamlet, or go discussing what I had for breakfast in the middle of a scene! And the rest of it, making sure I understood the proper sequence of things; again, I do have to wonder who they are accustomed to dealing with, not terribly bright, whoever, it would seem."}.

He went over the list once again in his mind. {" Yes, get settled and make sure no one suspects me; plant the listening devices in the office first, then the other areas they listed; check the safe, the files, their personal effects; and, all along, just 'fit in' and see what information I can gather, listen for anything along the lines of what they're looking for; and it's just for a couple of days, not a long run by any means. Just play along, if anyone starts looking at me odd, excuse myself, get a headache, whatever, get away to my own quarters for awhile. Anything that's asked of me, physically, that I'm not up to, well, use what I learned in the file, from the reports to throw them off the track, keep them from being suspicious. After all, it's not like I'm really him, going to have someone down on my neck about malingering in the long run, now is it? Then, before these chaps head out to do whatever it is they do, my employers will arrange for me to have an 'accident', maybe an illness, serious enough that I can't accompany them, serious enough to ultimately, if unexpectedly, be fatal, but before they return to get a close up view of the body, of course. Except for the other team members, and the file says he's not close to them, and if anything seems to go out of his way to annoy them, and those two relatives back in the States, seems no one would take much notice if he just disappeared."}

He had a moment of pause, wondering what would actually happen to the man he was impersonating and how they were obtaining his cooperation, what would happen to him when this was all over. {"It's unlikely they're paying him to disappear; after all, if he could be bought, they'd simply have HIM do the work necessary, tell them what they wanted to know. Odd, in a way, a man with a background like his not being willing to be bought. Quite unusual, in fact. Well, maybe they just weren't sure and didn't want to risk it."}

He found a slight frown on his own face at the thought, but then shrugged off the thought. Not his business, of course, but one did develop a connection of sorts to any role one was playing, and that didn't quite fit. And, he did rather wonder, what with the strong resemblance and all, whether there wasn't another connection; it was certainly possible. Well, that didn't concern him either; wasn't his doing, after all. He did have one uneasy thought about how far they might go to be sure this impersonation remained subrosa, {"well, that's why they hired a professional; it's just a job, and keeping quiet, that's just part of what they're paying me for. No reason for them to think otherwise."} Still, the thought did cross his mind that once this was done and he collected the rest of his payment, he might take a long vacation, perhaps, no, certainly, without leaving a forwarding address.

"You must be joking! You expect me to . . ."

An impatient, "yes, that's the usual entrance and exit place. We'll give you a hand, come on now! Now, you know what to do once you're in? Any last minute questions?"

He just looked at them and shook his head, {"I think they're all quite mad; 'do I know what to do once I'm in'; well, if I don't, then we're all in trouble, aren't we??!"} Though the thought did occur to him, that no, they were not all in trouble, though he surely would be. He didn't have any names or identification for this lot, no way to point anyone in their direction, downpayment had been in cash, initial contact through a professional go-between. No, it was HIS neck on the line, at least for now. {"I just hope they've got this fellow firmly tucked away so he can't appear and bollix the works!"} He'd been assured they would, already had, in fact, but the timing had to be right so the chap wasn't out of sight for too long. {"Well, I know my role, just hope they've the stage management down right and tight!"} So, he was up and over, with a considerable assist, picked up the two smelly buckets that were waiting for him, and headed up to the big house and through the kitchen door.

***

{"Well, so far, so good. They seem to accept me just fine for the most part, though that abrupt gangsterish fellow, Casino, did give me rather an odd look when I was playing at the cards. Don't know why, everything was in order, no missed plays, nothing. Doubt it was anything, but probably best that I finished the game at the first opportunity and wandered out to the library to get out of view. Shame I couldn't get a chance to place one of the devices, but that Actor fellow was in there, browsing through the stacks, so that wasn't possible. He didn't try to strike up a conversation, though, just minded his own business while I looked at some of the titles. Actually quite a good library, quite a bit in my line; sometime I'd like to take a closer look. There was a rather exquisite copy of 'A King and No King' by Fletcher and Beaumont I'd have loved to have spent more time with, but nothing I thought this chap would be interested in so I couldn't very well take it with me. I do hope something happens soon; I seem to be doing rather more 'wandering' than anything else! And that ever so casual advice they gave me, my employers 'if they start looking at you a bit odd, just get away, somewhere private, maybe take a laydown in your quarters with a headache?' Well, it might just be news to them that we all share one room, us four, on cots, no less! And the Lieutenant and that Sergeant Major don't seem to be in favor of anyone just laying about; they keep us on the move. And privacy, hardly any! I'm not looking forward to bedtime, not anymore, not with everyone packed in there together so close. I don't even know what this chap sleeps in, if he has scars someone will spot the absence of, if he snores, if he indulges in a nighttime drink, good heavens, even if he and one of the others . . . Oh, good heavens! THAT'S when I'll take a headache!"}

***

"Alright you chaps, get the lead out! Move it! Up and over, double time," came the shouting from the tall skinny Sargeant Major.

{"Up and over, he says! I managed the running well enough, well at least I got through it, though dead last. No one seemed surprised by that, which was good. The ropes, well, I'd enough gymnastics to handle that without killing myself. But this??! THAT is a WALL! And he says 'up and over' like it's something . . . Oh, yes, I suppose this is one of the things this chap could probably do quite well, isn't it? Time for a bit of improv,"} as he leaned over massaging the calf muscles of his right leg.

"Well, what are ya waiting for, a bleedin' invite?! Move it!"

He took a couple of halting steps, "not today, it ain't 'appening, Sergeant Major, sorry. Think I pulled something." The noncom fussed and fumed, but other than tossing him over the wall, all he could do was yell.

Chief tilted his head toward Casino, "Did you see him get hurt? I didn't see nothin' wrong til just now, though he was behind me, so maybe I just missed it."

"Naw, didn't see nothin'. But if he's not alright for that mission coming up, Warden's gonna be pissed for sure; the little Limey's needed on this one, more than on most even, right up his alley. You think they'll cancel?"

Actor, coming up behind them, "no, I imagine we will just be expected to carry him from place to place; I would not be surprised if he didn't suggest we start doing that now, just to get in practice," with a chuckle. "Don't worry, I believe he is faking it, probably got a slight pull and just decided to end it, though I cannot imagine why. That wall is his specialty and he likes to show it off when he can." 

"Alright, firing range, 'op to it now!"

He took a look at the pistols laid out on the table, {"at least this I don't have to improvise on. I've done quite a bit of shooting, rather enjoy it in fact."} He dawdled til the others were in place and Actor frowned at him, snapping at him impatiently, "well come on, Goniff, let's get this over with so we can go have some lunch, shall we?"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming, ain't I," he muttered in a low voice, quickly shuffling into the empty space. {"Well, that was easy enough. Let them show me the place I'm to be; I'll remember that for later."} They all loaded and at the signal fired, rapid succession.

The Sergeant Major checked the targets, replacing them as he went, paused at his and turned to give them an odd look. After tacking the last two new ones in place, he shouted, "let's do that again," and rushed to dodge out of the way as the other men raised their pistols immediately. The imposter hurried to follow suit, {"surely they aren't intending on firing while he's in front of the targets!"} It seemed they had exactly that intention, but by then the noncom was on the ground, cursing them; when he picked himself up, giving them all a very dirty look, he checked the targets again.

"Alright, yer dismissed, you miserable lot of . . ." They were all laughing as they headed back to the big house, the Mansion, and he joined in. He glanced back to see the Sergeant Major in conversation with the Army Lieutenant, Garrison, whom he'd only seen briefly. They both turned to look after the laughing group of men, and he faced forward immediately, blending in with the others. {"I didn't like the feel of that; did they spot something?"}

Coffee was waiting, and lunch, to his mind neither were worth consuming, but it was what was offered, so he made the best of it, eating quietly, not so much as asking for the salt or pepper, though he doubted either would have helped what was in front of him anyway. He got down the coffee, as bad as it was, and most of the rather meager plate of food, picking at it slowly, thinking that was all he should do, considering what he'd thought earlier about this fellow's eating habits, and pushed away from the table.

He didn't notice the odd looks he got; he was concentrating on trying to get to one of the rooms he was supposed to drop the listening devices in before the others dispersed. He would have been most concerned if he'd heard the conversation around the table, one carried out in low serious tones. Lieutenant Garrison looked at that three quarters empty plate, "does anyone know what's bothering him? He hardly said a word all morning, not a smile out of him, and the day he leaves food on his plate, you know something's got to be wrong."

"More likely finishing his before the rest of us are half done, then trying to beg some off ours too," came from Casino in agreement. "Don't know, but yer right, something's eatin at him, but it's sure comin out in odd ways. Did you see him on that last game of solitaire? Letter perfect, card by card, and when he was stumped, he just folded it up, no cheatin, no sneakin peaks at the deck or the rows; you know him, cheatin's half the fun of the game."

"He was browsing in the library earlier, in the Elizabethan plays, of all things! Goniff wouldn't know an Elizabethan play if one fell off the shelf and hit him in the head, but he actually had this one out in his hands, open as if he were reading it! If he's decided to improve himself, which I heartily doubt, I can hardly see that being the place to begin!" with a very genteel snort.

"Well, that limp he had comin off the obstacle course disappeared by the time he got to the firing range, ya know. Funny, him pullin a muscle bad enough he couldn't get over that wall, but able to walk it off that fast??" came from Chief, "and what was the Sergeant Major goin on about?"

Garrison raised an eyebrow, "best target of the lot, both rounds, dead on. Goniff?? I mean, he's fine on a mission; when people are shooting at us, he gets focused real fast," to their chuckles, "but here, he still closes his eyes before he pulls the trigger, more often than not!" He let out an exasperated sigh, "well, we'd better figure it out, get him over it, whatever it is. I'm up to HQ in the morning, and I'm sure we'll be headed out pretty soon after that."

Chief looked around the table, "why not call her? If she ain't away somewhere, she has a better chance of getting him to talk if something's really wrong than anyone else would."

Garrison looked blank for a moment or two, then "you mean Meghada?" He considered, then nodded slowly, "that's not a bad idea, actually, not bad at all. I'll go give her a call, no - I'll go see her; if she's in the garden she might not hear the phone. Keep an eye on him. I want him here when I get back, but don't say anything to him about any of this."

They nodded, and Garrison left to get his jeep. There had been a time when involving a civilian, a female at that, with his team would have been inconceivable to him; now, somehow, with this civilian, this female, it just made sense. Now, if she was just home, not off somewhere doing whatever it was she did! 

***

He'd gotten the device planted in the office, and almost had time for the one in the big 'common room' as they called it, but not quite. It was tucked away, but not hooked up yet, when he heard them all coming, and he arranged himself in one of the big easy chairs, back to the window, casually shuffling a deck of cards. He'd thought about having a book in his hands, but there wasn't one in reach, and he wasn't sure what to do with his hands, wasn't sure how this chap held them when at rest, so the cards were his best option; the file said he seemed preoccupied with them much of the down time. They came in, scattered, didn't really engage with him or with each other, other than a stray comment or two, so he felt comfortable again. {"Yes, had to have been imagining that odd feeling at the table; obviously nothing. And they were right about this lot not being close, hardly any interaction other than what is required."}

It was quiet when the doors opened awhile later and the Lieutenant walked in, ahead of him a young woman with deep red hair and a pleasant smile. {"Not pretty as such, about my height, built nice, curvey in all the right spots, a bit lush on top even, unusual shade of hair, a strong face, lots of character, dramatic perhaps, with the right makeup; she'd probably trade it all for a bit of 'pretty' though; make more of an impact with the chaps that way. She'd not play the ingenue, certainly, or the softer romantic leads, not with that so obvious strength, but I can see her as Kate or perhaps Rosalind or Beatrice."} He put that rather vacuous closed mouth smile on his face, the one he'd seen his character wear, and nodded amiably at her when the others greeted her and she grinned and called them each by name. She glanced his way, {"no, it can't be!"}. She wasn't sure what she was expecting from that rather strange recounting by Garrison, but surely not this! She'd seen him just last evening; they'd spent time talking, then with her singing, at his request, then reading a bit together, that being something he was liking more than he'd thought, or perhaps just admitted - she had her suspicions about that, whether that might just be another mask; he was relinquishing them one by one, but seemingly always with more waiting their turn - but certainly too embarrassed by the activity to let any of the other guys know about it, being sure he'd be teased. They'd followed that with a bit of sweet loving before he returned to the Mansion, both of them still getting used to that as well, how in tune with each other they were.

There'd been no hint of trouble, of any worries, anything out of the ordinary, just himself being himself, her enjoying that, his presence. It was still a novelty to both of them, this being with another person, just being, but something they didn't think they'd tire of easily or quickly. They were enjoying the gradual discovering of new things about each other, nothing forced, just the easy process as more and more was revealed naturally. She could now feel him, his presence, whenever they were close, whether at the cottage, at the pub, chancing across each other at the market, or those rare times at the Mansion. She could feel him, and something inside of her relaxed, opened up, and she would find herself smiling for no reason, other than that faint 'touch that wasn't a touch'.

Now, when she'd moved into the room, she'd thought to herself, {"he's not here, wonder where he wandered off to."} There was nothing to indicate he was here, so the sight of him sitting there stunned her. This man, she felt nothing when she looked at him, no recognition in her, none in his eyes, no connection at all, and that just wasn't possible!

She laughed and turned to Garrison as if continuing a conversation, warning him with a frown, her eyes intense, saying so low he might have missed the words if he hadn't been watching her lips, "that's not Goniff."

Garrison controlled his face, but it took effort. He smiled down at her, and blinking rapidly murmured, "are you sure?" His thoughts mirrored hers, {"I don't know what I expected her to say, but certainly not that!"}

She raised her brows and rolled her eyes at him, then turned back into the room. One by one Garrison caught his team members' eye, gave the slight signal for 'go to Alert', and the men stilled, watching carefully, well all but one. The one sitting in front of the window, he was facing Garrison, he had to have seen, but he was the only one who didn't respond as he should have, Garrison noticed, as if that very familiar signal, the one their very lives depended on so often, meant nothing to him, nothing at all.

She sat down a stack of napkins and a tin on the center table and popped the lid, saying in a soft and lilting voice, "your lucky day, guys, I baked this morning. Goniff, it's your favorite, fresh apple spice scones." He sat there, in the big armchair, waiting til one by one the others walked over and picked out a scone, each getting back in their originial position before another moved forward, before he got up and casually reached out for one, "looks good, thanks!" and headed back to his chair. He settled, placing the scone on its napkin on the table beside him.

She very casually walked over to the window behind him, "looks like it's going to be a fine afternoon; what do you have planned?" He didn't hear her move til she was beside him; he stiffened at the warm breath in his ear and the sharp blade under his chin, and her voice, soft still, but no longer pleasant. "Other than you telling me where Goniff is, who you are, and just what the hell this is all about, of course!!!"

"What, Lieutenant, what is she . . ." he tried to protest, only to see the four men standing in a semi-circle facing him, their faces uncompromising, hard.

"You're sure, Meghada, that's not Goniff?" came from Garrison. A rude snort was her only answer, as the she-demon leaning over the short blond licked his ear, slowly, teasingly, from lobe up the rim to the top and around, ending with a tiny kiss to that spot on his cheek where the lobe started again, eliciting an involuntary trembling from the man, and whispered in a husky, almost caressing voice that would have been positively enticing if it weren't for her words, and, of course, that knife!

"Please, don't make me ask you again? That would make me angry, and you really don't want to do that, do you?" He heard her move, felt the knife shift, and he now looked up into a face he knew he'd see in his nightmares, her eyes, well, he didn't want to think about her eyes! {"No, not Kate! Saint Joan, Katherine of Aragon, Boadicea"} and he looked deeper into her brown-gold gaze, trapped there, seeing the irises glitter and seem to swirl, shuddered and swallowed deeply, remembering a rather obscure play from his university days, {"Anath!"}

The men started to rumble, but a gesture from Garrison quieted them. Almost casually, sitting on the arm of another of the big chairs, the officer spoke, drawing the imposter's attention over to him, almost apologetically explained. "You really do want to answer her, you know; now, if it was me doing the questioning, yeah, I could see maybe trying to talk your way out of it, convincing me you really are Goniff, you're just having an off day, took a hit to the head, trying to con us as a joke, something like that, you know. But her, she KNOWS different; she's not going to listen to you if you try that; she's really not long on patience - she's likely to just start removing body parts, or carving pretty patterns, if you know what I mean?" He would have liked to believe the officer was just trying to intimidate him, but something told him he'd said nothing but the truth.

"Hey, kid, you want us to loosen him up for you first? He might be willing to talk to us, save having ta get the rugs cleaned again," came with a cold smile from Casino, rubbing one fist with his other hand, while Chief now had his switchblade in his hands, running his fingers lovingly along the flat part, as if HE wasn't all that concerned about the rugs. Actor was just standing there, watching as if he was watching a rather interesting play. He didn't know if any of them could hurt someone who looked so much like their friend and team mate, not like this anyway, cold, not accidentally, not in a fight, not while there was even the slightest chance it really WAS him, but he didn't think the man in the chair understood that, and somehow he doubted the young woman was mistaken.

"I don't think that's necessary, guys. Do you think that's necessary?" she asked him with a kind, almost loving smile.

{"I really wish she hadn't smiled like that; it really did NOT make me feel one bit better, in fact, quite to the contrary."} He shook his head in denial, in disgust, knowing now just how lacking that 'complete file and briefing' had been. Somehow, he'd messed up, maybe more than once from the sound of things, and this woman? Well, he remembered her now as being listed as a village woman, a bit of a recluse, of no consequence, one who had given first aid to the team once or twice; listed under 'possible occasional contact'. He was now quite sure that was a wildly inadequate description of her and her connection with this group, this man.

{"Might as well pull the plug, they didn't pay me enough to come out of this with scars! Can't risk that, not in my profession!"} He took another look at the woman's face, at the faces of the men, and gulped. Scars just might be the least of his worries.

"Meghada, you are sure?! How did you know?" came from Actor, that master of the art, not doubting her, just a professional interest. She looked at him and saw the question for what it was. She gave the tiniest sound, not a laugh, not really. Turning her eyes to the imposter she tilted her head, considering, and explained.

"Physically, he looks close enough to the part, yes, though there are several differences that I can see right off; he's several pounds heavier, the color of his lashes are a couple of shades off - true blond, not sandy blond like Goniff's." The imposter groaned, {"possible occasional contact, but she knows the color of his eyelashes enough to spot that tiny difference??!"} "That's not his natural hair color, certainly; the arch of his neck, not quite right," and, her eyes never leaving his, she ran the back of one finger slowly from a point directly under his ear down to his collar and around to the base of his throat, and he gasped, his head arched back and he shuddered in reaction, feeling himself swell in spite of himself, swallowing deeply. {"That was either the most erotic thing I've ever experienced or the most terrifying, maybe both!"} was his bewildered thought. His eyes, not to mention the sudden change in the fit of his trousers betrayed his thoughts, and Actor came close to laughing.

"Smile for me now, dovey," she coo'd at him, and he swallowed, and shook his head.

Garrison reached for him, took his chin in his hand and shook it gently, "open up, smile now," him smiling all the while as well. {"Might as well give it up,"} he told himself, and gave them a highly artificial grin, more a baring of the teeth, but that's what they were looking for anyway. The guys looked at each other, nodding. {"Never would have thought that having perfect teeth would be a hazard! Though was hardly going to damage them for a two day performance, and not sure really how I'd have managed that crooked eyetooth anyway!"} he thought to himself.

The woman continued, "behavior? Well, you each spotted things that were off, the Lieutenant told me. And that tin of scones should have been sitting on the table beside him by now, half empty at least, instead of just that one scone, and even that untouched. EXCEPT he dislikes apple scones, one of the few things he won't eat, wouldn't have taken one in the first place, and he knows I'd never bake them for him, much less claim them as his favorite; I'd have gotten some surprise, shock, something when I said what they were. By the way, those aren't, of course."

"Besides which," and she frowned, cocking her head to one side, now talking to herself as much as to them, perhaps more thinking to herself, "he doesn't smell like Goniff, he doesn't taste like him," not even noticing the very strange looks she got from everyone at that last sentence. Silence, as they exchanged questioning looks, then Chief asked or started to ask what they each had thought when they'd heard that comment, "and what . . ." before stopping, unsure he wanted to hear the answer, wasn't even sure he wanted to hear himself ask that question out loud; and she realized what she'd said. She gave a wry chuckle, "Goniff smells of sweet sage and mint and musk; he tastes . . ." and she licked her lips thoughtfully, ending by gripping her lower lip in her teeth to one side, as if remembering. "He tastes like tobacco and tea and whiskey and ripe strawberries and wild honey. . . He tastes like himself, like no other."

Actor's eyebrows were almost reaching his hairline at that, and he looked over at Garrison, and commented, "well, she certainly seems to have specifics in mind!" again amused in spite of himself even though he was deeply concerned at the same time. {"Obviously I have not been paying as much attention to our small friend as I should have, or to her either! That could hardly have been a casual discovery."}.

"I'm sure," she looked down at the flaxen haired image of Goniff in the big arm chair looking up at her as if at his worst nightmare, "this isn't him."

{"Just how do you play a character against someone who knows what he smells like, what he tastes like? That's just, well, not fair!"} he thought, a bit indignant at the very idea. Again Actor read the thought, and shook his head, {"for such a serious situation, this has had so many amusing parts to it!"} but then he frowned, consideringly, {"yes, I'm glad that isn't something I've run up against in a job before; it would be most difficult to get around, and you'd never know if you were being successful or not until it was too late, as this one found out!"} He looked at Garrison, seeing the understanding, the agreement in the team leader's eyes. After all, Garrison carried out a lot of those impersonations himself; he understood the implications just as well as Actor did. He wondered just how many people out there could do what she obviously could. Hopefully, very few!

Garrison heaved a sigh, "alright, spill. Everything. I want to know where he is, what the hell this is all about, and I want to know now!" He told them everything he knew; he knew if he was very, very lucky, he might come out of this intact, and anyway, there was the first five hundred pounds sitting safely in his bank; he'd just have to write off the last payment. {"Besides, if I play this right, they might be willing to pay me for the information . . ."} He took another look at the people facing him, {"well, no, I think not."}

"The listening device in the office. Do we dismantle it now, or wait? Any way we can make use of that?" Meghada asked Craig. He looked at her with raised brows, at her handing him the lead, to have her give a wry grin, "you're the stragetist; do you need me to find you a sharp stick and patch of dirt, or can you make do with a pencil and paper?" The others gave a reluctant chuckle. They knew she wasn't making light of this, not in the least, but more likely trying to contain a temper it would benefit no one for her to let loose at this point.

"I don't see how we can use that, at least not right off the bat. Can't think of anything that'd make them reveal themselves. Even if we could convince them we need Goniff, himself, his skills, for something vital, something this one couldn't do, they know he'd tell us everything that's happened on his side, and it'd be blown. And we don't know their motivation, whether they'd even care if a mission was called off, failed due to that lack. We just don't know enough," slamming his open palm down on the table in frustration. He turned to the imposter again, "And you know nothing more? Nothing?" receiving a shake of the head.

"You . . . what is your name? I can't keep calling you 'not him' in my mind; it's starting to annoy me," Meghada demanded impatiently. Deciding that annoying her any more than she already was, well that was at the very top of his things-most-to-be-avoided list right now, he replied quickly, "Davison, Lewis Davison". "Alright, Lewis, you were told to keep track of certain information, listen specifically for it; go over it again." He did, but besides knowing THEY, whoever THEY were, were interested in any extracurricular activities the guys might have gotten up to, or were planning, or even discussing; any hints of how far they'd be willing to bend the rules; any hint of whether they might be willing to take on extra 'jobs' - well, that didn't really help with the immediate problem. They kept circling back to the first question she'd asked, "Where is he?" "The men you were in contact with, describe them. The manner of transportation, describe it." On and on it went, nothing coming of it. 

Finally, she shook her head in utter frustration and anger, "Damn it!" She turned to Garrison, "can we lock him up someplace securely for a little while; I don't want him a party to this." And she waited til that was done, while she thought.

Then, she seemed to settle inside, {"the family is likely to be annoyed with me about this, but then again, they just might understand . . ."} She exhaled sharply and turned to the one she thought might understand more of what she was going to try. "Chief, I need . . . something of his own, his hairbrush or comb preferably, if there's loose hair in it, and something he's sweated into that's not been washed. Actor, a bowl, preferably silver, about this big," motioning with her hands, "and a pair of scissors." "Casino, a pitcher of water, string, matches, candles - white, three of them, those emergency candles will work fine. Lieutenant, I need something from the cottage, can you drive me, now, quickly?" and it was all set in motion.

Soon she was back at the kitchen table, the bowl in front of her, filled with water waited for her to continue. They gathered around, bewildered, but not protesting, to her relief. She placed the candles in their position, ready to be lit. She cut a small square of material from the undershirt, heavy with his scent, at least to her, refraining herself with some difficulty from burying her nose in it and inhaling deeply, laid it open and snipped three loose hairs from the brush into tiny pieces, letting them fall into the square, adding bits of sage and torn mint leaves, folding them securely into a tiny bundle, tied with string. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she pulled out her knife and, ignoring their startled protests, sliced open her palm, blood flowing freely, and she closed her hand on the bundle, til it was deep red and dripping, soaked in her blood. She dropped it into the bowl, watching it float, then slowly sink to the bottom. Garrison and the guys were looking at each other, wondering if she'd lost her mind, or if they had, to be standing here watching her while she did . . . Well, whatever the hell she was doing. The cut hand she allowed to continue dripping into the water, with the other she crumbled finely crushed dried herbs over the surface of the water, where they drifted lazily, forming patterns within the swirls of blood, breaking apart, reforming into new distinct patterns, symbols, again and again.

The hair on Chief's neck was starting to tingle now, and he didn't take his eyes off her, what she was doing, memories of the old shaman he'd known coming to his mind. Pausing to check what was in front of her, nodding in acknowledgement that all was in place, she struck a match with her free hand, lit the candles, and dropped the match into the bowl. While she knew what to expect, of course, they jumped at the explosion of fire now covering the surface of the water, leaping high, and there were cries of protest as she continued to hold her cut palm against the flames. She refrained from crying out; though the pain was intense, it was necessary and she'd not begrudge it. When the flames ended, as suddenly as they erupted, when she pulled her hand away, and turned it over, no sign of blisters or redness, they swallowed deeply, "it's gone, the cut, it's just gone," Casino said in the closest he could come to a whisper.

"Chief, help me look, help me see," she whispered, her strength almost gone for now, and he moved forward, having seen such things in his childhood, knowing what was needed. The others were silent, shocked, appalled, questioning. He stood over the table, placing his hands alongside hers to each side of the bowl, staring intently.

"The officers quarters, at the edge of the base," he said, "Lieutenant, that's what that big yellow stone building is, isn't it? The one with the lions on the front steps?" he asked urgently. Garrison confirmed that, with an incredulous nod. "And a guy, a Major, I don't know him, but . . ." Chief described him, Meghada adding a few details, and the penny dropped for Garrison and Actor.

"Denning, Major Denning, US Army. Anything else?" and they both stared, but shook their heads. They watched helplessly as she dashed for the kitchen door, to throw up into the weeds beyond, again and again, and then walk slowly back into the kitchen, accepting the glass of water silently handed to her by Casino. Garrison looked at the table. The bowl was empty now, bright and shiny, nothing left, no sign it had been used for anything, arcane or not. The candles had smoldered out. Only the remains of the t-shirt, a hairbrush, scissors, string, just the remnants of something he couldn't quite bring himself to admit he'd witnessed. For now, though, this was the only lead they had, and he was going to go with it!

"Now what?" asked Casino. Garrison got that look on his face, the one they all knew, and they shared a grim smile of recognition. That look always meant action, frequently it meant something was going to get blown up.

"Now, Casino, we go get him; we'll take the Sergeant Major with us too. Chief, you drive. Meghada, you'd be better off not having a role in this; I'd rather keep your involvement quiet if possible." She didn't like it, he could tell, but she admitted his reasoning was sound; the less people knew of the ongoing connection between her and the team, the more support she could give on the sly; it would all come out eventually, she was sure, but for now, very well.

"I'll stay here. I'll wait, for awhile anyway. If you aren't back by, when?" and he looked at her, knowing she'd not sit back forever, or even for long, comforted by that even, somehow. He wasn't used to anyone having his back, other than the guys - anyone having his TEAM'S back either. He'd think about all of this, what all this meant later, not now. "Give us three hours, no, make that four, before you do anything, okay?" and she nodded at him.

"Good luck, guys," and swallowed, her voice falling to a whisper now, "bring him home." The looks of determination on the four faces told her they would, if it were at all possible, they would.

She straightened the mess in the kitchen, she raided the small garden and vegetable bin and freezer, put a pot of soup on the stove, checked the pantry and refrigerator to see what else was available; she knew him; if, no WHEN they brought him back, if he was half able to stand, he'd be hungry; bless him, he always was! She wandered the Mansion, picking up books to glance through, putting them down again, dealt a hand of solitaire, and with a groan gathered the cards back together again. She paced while the clock seemed to slow to less than a crawl. Then, the sound of a jeep in the drive, and she raced to the window.

YES! All five of them, plus the Sergeant Major, climbing out, her five coming up the drive, in through the main door into the hall; she raced down the stairs, coming to a halt at the bottom. A quick look at Garrison, the gleam of triumph, along with a note of warning in his eyes, told her there was a story to be told, but for now, well, that could wait. She took note of his warning, and braced herself, brought herself firmly under control, or so she thought. She moved toward the slight Englishman, frowned at the bruises forming on his face, torn lip now swelling, small gash at the corner of his left eye, pain showing in the narrowing of his eyes, in the awkward way he moved, traces of blood on his khaki tunic.

"Off having an adventure on your own, laddie?" she asked in what should have been a casual tone, but somehow it didn't come out quite that way, something about that catch in the back of her throat mid-sentence, perhaps. The cryptic reference to the book they were reading together drew a flash of a shy smile to his face. Her hand went out, seemingly of its own accord, to touch him gently on his cheek as if to check the damage. The back of one finger traced the line of his neck from below his ear on down to his collar, then to the base of his throat. Actor remembered that gesture from the confrontation in the library, remembered a few other things from that time as well, and gave just a hint of a quick smile, picked up on by the others, who exchanged brief smiles of their own.

"Not of my making, 'Gaida." His pale blue eyes brightened, "what's that smell, cor, I could even eat Army rations, I'm that 'ungry!" and she grinned at him, chuckling and shaking her head, regaining at least part of her control now that he was back with them, safe, once again that 'touch that wasn't a touch' reassuring her. Now she was teasing him, telling him she'd never seen him back away from much of anything that resembled food, Army rations included, foul stuff that that was, telling him further that if he thought her good soup smelled like Army rations then she was truly losing her touch, him protesting that wasn't what he'd meant at all. All the while they were happily bantering at each other, she was shooing them all into the kitchen, dishing up a truly excellent hearty soup, along with bread and cheese and tinned fruit that she'd heated and thickened into a rich pudding topped with cream, along with those scones she'd brought earlier. He ate everything placed in front of him, reached for and ate seconds, and tried for a third scone, not really wanting it they could tell, but slyly watching her face with a grin just waiting to spring forth, before she slapped his fingers away. A chuckle, an arching of his brow and then that lopsided grin, and they smiled too, knowing he was home. 

While they ate, she heard all about the rescue. About them just driving up to that building, Garrison and the Sergeant Major marching in, saying Major Denning had directed them here to retrieve one of their men. When they protested, Garrison had overridden them with, "well, of course he sent us; how else would we have known where to come?" in a sufficiently arrogant manner to cow them into submission. Though they didn't know it, he was using one of his rather masterful impersonations of a German senior officer, just in English! They waited til he'd been brought down to them, neither showing any reaction at the obvious manhandling that he'd undergone, though that hadn't been easy on either of their parts, even with Garrison explaining how to handle things earlier, warning the Sergeant Major that he wasn't sure what they might find. The Sergeant Major had developed a fondness for 'the lads' for all he tried to deny it, and Garrison was well aware of that.

"You can explain just how you managed to get in this mess when we get back," Garrison told him sternly, as he ordered the men to remove his shackles. "Major Denning gave me some of the details, but I'll expect a complete report from you. You are just lucky he saw his way clear to turn you over to me, instead of sending you to the stockade to sit it out for a few days to teach you a lesson. I've collected the others, they're waiting outside. Get a move on now! I've wasted enough time on your nonsense!"

Goniff made himself as small as he could, nodding rapidly, "yes, sir, Lieutenant sir." He'd seen the signal from Garrison, one they used on assignments, so he knew the part he needed to play. He shuffled quickly out to the jeep, barely able to keep from asking the questions that were ready to tumble out. The others were there, waiting. All was silent, as he pulled himself into the jeep, wincing as he did so. They refrained from helping him, though that fought against their instincts.

Garrison gave the order, Chief started the jeep and they got off the base, down the road, then to stop, to get their breaths, then the laughing started, the hand claps to the shoulders. Garrison started to order Chief to drive on when Actor stopped him, "Craig, I think you'd better let me clean him up a bit before he walks into the Mansion; at least get rid of the blood on his face, don't you think?" And Garrison looked at the slender blond man, again noting the bruises, the split lip and the cut at the corner of his eye, the way he hunched over just slightly, like his ribs hurt.

"Yeah, that'd probably be best," his lips tight with anger again, anger he didn't have a suitable target for, not yet. {"If this is how I'm reacting, I can only guess how she'll react!"} Goniff gave them a puzzled frown, as did the Sergeant Major, {"don't see what difference it makes, 'ere or there, no real 'arm done, nothing that couldn't wait. 'Urts some, but not like I need stitches or anything, nothing broken I don't think,"} but he shrugged and let Actor pull out the med kit and go to work tidying him up.

Once back at the Mansion, the Sergeant Major had exchanged a perky salute with the Lieutenant, and gone back to his duties. {"Wonder if I'll ever find out what all that was about,"} he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. {"Oh well, as long as it all turned out."} He noticed the woman standing at the window to the library watching, waiting; he recognized her, of course, and he wondered.

The meal over, she turned to Garrison, "and what about Davison? What do we do with him?" The guys looked at each other in shock; in the excitement, they'd forgotten all about him, and Goniff really didn't know what they were talking about. They gave him the brief story, leaving out quite a bit, well, a lot! after a quick cautioning look from Garrison and Meghada, and he wouldn't believe them til they brought the double in to stand in front of him.

They looked at each other, up and down, and Goniff looked at his team mates with what was surely, had to have been a fake puzzled look on his gamine face, {"could that possibly be for real??!"} thought Casino, as Goniff said indignantly, "I can't believe you'd fall for that, mates; the bloke don't look a thing like me!" to their resounding laughs.

"'Gaida, you didn't think that was me, did you??!" he asked incredulously, teasing, acting the clown as usual, but looking at her with just a bit of hurt hidden deep in his eyes.

She smiled and shook her head at him, clear eyed, reassuringly, and chuckled, answering him truthfully, "never! As you said, he's not a thing like you!"

And Garrison too reassured him, "no, she wasn't taken in, not for one minute," shaking his head, remembering. {"Before she did more than take a fast look, even. It was like she felt the difference when she entered the room. She just knew; everything she told us later, as to how she knew, that was all true, but all of that was just justifying what she already KNEW somehow. Like I can find good reasons afterwards for doing something I did just because my instincts told me to do it."}

"I can take Davison with me," Meghada offered. "Doubt he'll be heading back to his contacts now; I can see he's out and gone, changed back to whatever he looks like when he's not confusing things around here. I don't think he'll make any trouble, will you?" And Davison looked at the guys, and then at her, and his emphatic shake of the head was quite believable.

He'd switched to his own voice, own mannerisms right after his discovery, no sense in doing otherwise, and he'd had the feeling doing otherwise would only annoy her further; he really wanted to avoid that! He'd been even more adamant about that when he saw the obvious damage the other man, his 'character' had taken, and her just as obvious though tightly controlled concern, displeasure at that, and he could tell the Lieutenant and the others, well, they weren't far behind her. He thought again about that file, and just how far off it was from reality. He didn't want any more reason for that displeasure to focus on him; he was quite sure it wouldn't be healthy.

"I'm thinking of going on a long vacation, actually. Have a friend in Canada; it seems as if now might be a good time to visit." he told her. He could only hope he made it there, could only hope it was far enough. His ex-employers, well, he could outsmart them, he was sure, but this one? He really didn't want to face her again, not in this lifetime.

"Yes," she smiled at him, "I think I'll even help arrange your transportation." He could only hope that was a good thing, burial at sea not being something he'd really planned on. He suddenly wished he hadn't thought that, about 'in this lifetime'!

He looked at them strangely, "I was wrong on so many counts. They told me the file, their information was all quite complete, quite accurate, you know. I accepted their facts, their interpretations of the situation, the people, the interactions, the role itsel; I believe in your field, Lieutenant, you call that getting bad intel. I was wrong in not accepting what my subconscious was telling me, that you all were picking up on my errors. I was wrong about you," looking at Meghada, "I was casting you as a Rosalind, a Portia, maybe a Kate." He stopped and frowned, considering, "perhaps I was wrong even about him, about the role I was supposed to be playing," nodding to Goniff.

She noticed that tiny tic, the one that let her know her Englishman didn't like where this was headed. She moved, stage left, shifting audience focus, picking up a glass from the sideboard, reaching for a decanter, {"yes, I know the lingo, the stage business, I can use it as well as you can!",} away from Goniff, to where Davison had to turn to keep her in easy view, redirecting his gaze, his attention, the direction of his thoughts. Actor watched her closely, seeing the scene shift, enjoying watching a fellow professional at work, and not meaning Davison.

"Oh, you had me cast incorrectly? Now just how would you cast me?" with an amused laugh, her efforts successful, Goniff no longer foremost in his mind. {"Yes, I would be most interested in that as well,"} Actor thought to himself.

Davison's gaze was intense, a little fearful, and his mouth twitched as he responded, "Katherine of Aragon, Saint Joan, Boadicea, perhaps", and he paused and his voice lowered even more, "Anath".

She gave him a smile, sweet, seductive, sinister, and purred, her voice almost at a whisper now, "smart man, even if it took you awhile to get there," and he watched that smile, her eyes, and almost disgraced himself then and there, later thankful he'd been spared that humiliation, doubting they'd have been willing to lend him fresh clothing.

He took another look at the one he'd been sent to impersonate, and shook his head in disgust, {"I wish him joy of her! I'd not take her on for all the money anyone could offer!"}

Goniff read the expression, and a quick wry grin crossed his face, a look of arch satisfaction, {"coo, if he only knew!"} and just for an instant, the 'comedic character' Lewis had thought to impersonate was gone, replaced by someone quite different, only to then have the 'Puck' back in place; the imposter stared and shuddered, wondered if his employers had gotten ANYTHING right! They returned him to his temporary cell, complete with a tray containing soup and bread and cheese, and quite eager to go there he was, away from them, from HER, and they returned to the kitchen. She'd gotten a look of acknowledgement, of thanks from Goniff; he'd gotten a tiny nod in return.

Her face was still now, no more smiles, as she asked, "and now the rest of it?" Garrison nodded to Goniff, who told of being hauled off by three soldiers as he finished carrying the compost buckets out to the bin early that morning, it being his turn, shackled and gagged for good measure. He was taken to that building, dumped in the corner of a room, still shackled. 

"They knew enough to check the shackles, make sure they were still locked, which they weren't by then," he gave a wry grin, "they searched me and took back the key, locked them again, then tossed it to one of em waiting by the door, so I'd 'ave no chance at it, and me 'ands were behind my back, not to the front, locked to the ones at my ankles, on a short lead, no window, only the one door, guard inside and out." No one had said what they wanted of him, what he supposedly had done, nothing. He stopped talking, shrugged as if that was the end of it, reached for his coffee, and Garrison asked, "the bruises? The rest? When and how did that happen?"

Goniff looked at Garrison furtively, not really wanting to talk about that, wishing he hadn't been asked about that. He glanced over at Meghada, quickly, warily, then away again, his eyes difficult to read, his voice trying hard for casual, "they've a Lieutenant Carloff over there, didn't much fancy my face the way it was. Came in after I'd been there awhile, to 'ave a chat." He stopped, went back to his coffee.

When he didn't continue, Garrison pressed, "Goniff??" Garrison's voice was soft, encouraging, measured, but unrelenting; he was going to have the answer, no one doubted that. The blue eyes looked at him reluctantly, paused then, finally, slowly, his gaze returned to the cup in his hands, "said 'e'd 'eard things in the village, the little thief up at the big 'ouse 'ad 'is eye on something at one of the cottages, something 'e shouldn't be turning 'is eyes to, much less 'is 'ands. Carloff came to offer 'is opinion, and a bit of guidance."

He flushed, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. {"I don't know why it's so 'ard with those two. Being 'elpful and 'armless, that's what I play best, cept round them that likes to go after such, acourse, then its more least-in-sight as best I can. Usually, that works, play on their sympathy, gets that extra bit of acceptance, keeps any from looking any closer. With these two, I don't use that, can't for some reason, never 'ave with 'er, not anymore with 'im, not like in the beginning anyway, not to fool 'im, maybe just others that are about."} And he reluctantly admitted to himself, {"and I bloody well don't like it when I end up looking like this in front of them. I don't much like them seeing me this way, like some 'elpless fool, like I'm less than. . ."} very aware of his battered appearance. {"And it's too bloody dangerous if they start seeming me elsewise, though sometimes I think she does. That can't be, I know that; I've done this too long now, stayed 'idden too long, but somehow, sometimes, I think she sees past all that's between. This is all so bloody confusing! I like a simple life, uncomplicated! that's what I want, I've already too many complications, and this is NOT 'elping!"}

Chief watched him, sensing some of the turmoil going through his friend's mind, though certainly not all, not the why, then looked over at the woman, wondering how much of this she was reading, wondering if she could help, or if this was something that just couldn't be helped. Her eyes met his, acknowledging his concern, then moved over the marks on Goniff's face once more; she reached out her hand, gently pushed his sleeve up baring his wrist, staring at the damage the too-tight shackles (though how they'd even GOTTEN the shackles that tight on his wiry wrists was a mystery to her) had left there, and looking at Actor grimly.

"Yes, I'll take care of that, and all the rest, when we go up," he reassured her. She nodded at him, acknowledging his promise. They hadn't thought her voice could get any softer, but now, they could see they'd been wrong. Casino decided she had that in common with the Lieutenant, the angrier they were, the quieter they got. Now, she was close to, but not quite whispering, "Major Denning, you'll let me deal with him, Lieutenant, discreetly of course. You can't be involved any further. You walk a fine enough line as it is."

He looked at her, opened his mouth to say, what? then closed it again. He tried again, but somehow what came out was not what he'd intended to say, wasn't a firm order to stand down, let the military handle it, rather "it would be helpful if we knew what he was really after, if there were any others involved, that sort of thing."

And she nodded at him, in agreement, "of course. I'll let you know all I find out," and he found her smile just as alarming, as troubling as Davison had earlier, but somehow reassuring, comforting, at the same time, not that he thought that made any sense.

He didn't want to say it, but he had to, he couldn't let her leave here without trying, at least, "and Lieutenant Carloff, I could put him on report . . ." He stopped, looking at her sympathetic, understanding eyes, eyes also filled with a promise of retribution that he found all too easy to read, seeing as how it echo'd his own wishes. {"She's right, I can't even do that without drawing the attention back to the team, to her, to this whole mess, damn it!"} Somehow, though, she'd take care of that, just like she'd take care of the rest; he could be sure of that.

He nodded, agreeing, even wishing he could play a part, finding his hands had turned into fists as he looked again at the battered face of his pickpocket, though knowing he couldn't, "alright, I'll stay out of it." He thought of all the things he should be expected to say, as an officer certainly should say, taking matters firmly in hand, but ended up only with a bit of a smile and a mild, "I don't want to have to explain to your family your ending up in jail? Though I'd not mind having you on the team, you understand, that seems like a rather chancy way to go about it, not to mention the time and effort in processing the paper work." As a firm admonishment and directive, it lacked a certain force, he had to admit, and the small snorts and smothered chuckles throughout the room ruefully told him that the others agreed. And while her rich chuckle did its best to reassure him, he wasn't sure if its best was good enough to get the job done. 

Goniff sidled up to talk to her when they left the table, but found he wasn't sure what to say, so they ended up standing together, staring out the window in silence. That was alright; they'd never found silence between them to be uncomfortable. In the end, it was the woman who spoke first, with a deep sigh, not even looking at him, "I've always been amazed at that, you know, the amount of 'courage'," instilling that word with all the contempt her voice could hold, "it takes for someone to beat a man with his hands bound behind his back, his feet bound as well." She paused for a moment, then continued, her voice dropping even lower, "and at the internal strength of a man who can endure that, that and more, and come away whole in spirit," thinking not only of Denning, but the Biggs family as well, and more that she knew and more that she suspected. She felt when he turned his head sharply to look at her, eyes wide, vulnerable, shocked at her words.

She closed her eyes tightly together, deliberately removing every mask, every barrier, every protection she had in place, then opened them again, hiding nothing, turning to look at him, squarely. There was no pity in her eyes, only a rich deep caring (he dared not put any other word to it); no sign of looking down on him, only a calm acknowledgement of HIM; not just the parts he let others see, not the additional pieces he'd shown her, but all of it, the him he thought he'd keep hidden from everyone, even her, a seeing, a knowing, a sincere respect, mixed with untold regret for what he had had to endure. A respect, a KNOWING, and acceptance that touched him at his deepest levels. All overlaying a raging anger on his behalf that she fought with some difficulty to keep, not hidden from him, but under control. He saw all that, and felt the tension loosen inside him.

He realized, wondered at the fact, but knew, without doubt, this, this and what had happened before hadn't lessened him in her eyes, maybe even, he thought in shock, maybe not even in Garrison's eyes, though he wasn't sure how she'd managed to show him that, though somehow she had.

"I've never even met the bastard, that I'm aware of. That he used me as an excuse . . . Achushla, Ashtore, I am truly sorry for that. I only hope and pray whatever Denning was up to didn't have a connection to me or my people. I promise you, I never intended to turn you, your friends into a target. If it turns out that is what this is about, I'll step away once this is over, if you need me to, if that's what I have to do, to prevent that."

He looked at her, hearing the words, both the promise and the endearments he wasn't even sure she was aware of speaking, or aware he could understand; he heard the pain enclosed within those words, but moreso reading her eyes, her face, what he could feel within her. He thought of all the sharing they had done, her steadfast presence and caring, the eagerness with which she reached for him, the welcome he could see in her eyes when he reached for her. He used one long forefinger under her chin to hold her eyes to his.

"Is that what you want to do, step away?" he asked very quietly, to see her eyes change, now fierce and hot, to get not words, only a harsh shake of her head, and the look in her eyes as she looked into his, well, he might not understand it, but he wanted to! If it took him forever, he wanted to! It might not be simple, it might not be uncomplicated, he rather doubted it would be; but he wanted to understand it, somehow claim it! It was only gradually they became aware of their surroundings again, the other men in the room studiously trying to pretend there wasn't something momentous happening at the side of the room, anything more than two people standing close, talking quietly, him touching one finger to her face ever so lightly. They drifted apart, joining the others, pretending right along with the others that nothing had happened, only the tiny smiles that appeared on various faces occasionally indicating anything otherwise.

Garrison took the opportunity later to murmur a question to Actor. "I recognized the other names, of course, and can see why he'd choose them, all strong characters, but 'Anath'?"

Actor replied, with a knowing smile, "a most fierce warrior goddess, also a goddess known for her, shall we say, sensuality and passionate nature. She was both sister and wife consort to B'aal, and when he was abducted by the god of the underworld, she followed after, shattering the gates to hell itself in her rage. She destroyed the god for his temerity in stealing B'aal from her, and she and B'aal took his place on the throne, ruling there as well as in their own courts."

Garrison considered, "well, he did seem good at casting, at least there at the end," and he and Actor shared a discreet laugh. Actor thought too, of B'aal, known for the power of invisibility, being one with many forms, many faces, and looked over at their slender Englishman, pickpocket, second story man, card cheat, clown, team member, friend, brother, maybe much more. {"Perhaps Anath was the most apt of the castings, after all."}

The information, when it came, was complete, well, except for what made Denning and his two partners come up with such a scheme, other than the obvious, greed and avarice. Maybe there WAS nothing more. They'd already been involved in other such activities, turning the war into a rather lucrative venture for themselves, helped along by information they had access to in their military roles. Whatever, the sighting of Davison playing a small role in a not very successful play had jogged Denning's memory; he'd noted the strong resemblance to Goniff and decided to take advantage of it. They'd already been toying with the various possibilities of 'owning, using' Garrison's team - everything from a few discreet heists, maybe a safe here or there, maybe even some light espionage. Whether they would have truly caused Goniff's death, or perhaps simply kept him out of commission til they had the team firmly under their control, that was uncertain. It would have been foolish, certainly, to eliminate someone with such useful skills as he possessed.

Meghada wasn't disposed to giving them the benefit of the doubt; even the best case scenario had little to say for itself. The shocking discovery of highly suspicious material in the possession of Denning and his partners, along with proof of their various other activities, well, Leavenworth could probably keep them out of the way for a goodly time, especially considering the nature of the material in question, material none of the three would have any reason to come into contact with in the performance of their duties. All their protests of bewildered innocence aside, HQ was not amused, and not inclined to be lenient; they had enough problems with US/British relations without these Yank officers getting up to such escapades, if you'd call them that.

No, she didn't play nice, she didn't forgive, not in defense of those she cared about, nor where vengence was concerned, and those who knew her best, knew the Clan, figured the three actually got off fairly easy. When she considered it, no matter how she deplored their activities and had no intention of letting them get away with it, it had really been impersonal on their part, just taking advantage of an opportunity. Lewis Davison, he made it onboard a ship to Canada, and she was content with him reaching his destination and continuing his life, as long as he made no other moves that affected her or hers.

Lieutenant Carloff, now, he was a different story. With him, it had been personal; with her, it was now personal as well.

***  
Lieutenant Carloff felt himself to be a hero; no, he'd never been in battle or anything like that, he was a desk officer, but he'd stood up and made a stand; he'd showed that little convict just what was what. And he thought he was entitled to a little gratitude, felt sure the foolish and misguided young woman would FEEL grateful for his intercession on her behalf, in putting a halt to what had to be a highly embarrassing indiscretion on her part; in his more expansive moods, which came after he'd had a drink or two or three, he felt it had been an intercession on the behalf of all womanhood!

To be sure, the soldier who was guarding the prisoner had seemed uncomfortable with being ordered to leave the room during the chat; had been even more uncomfortable when he'd come back in after hearing the sounds coming from the room to find the prisoner bruised and bleeding on the floor. When Carloff had explained the man had threatened him, the soldier had even made some foolish comment about the prisoner not only being half his size but also being shackled, hands behind him; had even tried to protest when Carloff brushed off his suggestion they call the medic, but the kinds of men they were bringing into the military these days, with the draft, well, they just didn't have what it took. Imagine, not just putting up with riff raff like that, but actually intending to coddle them! Carloff felt that quite strongly; he'd done just what was needed; yes, one had to take a stand, and that is just what he had done.

Now, he was going to pay a visit and let the woman know just how much he'd done for her, give her the opportunity to show her appreciation. He'd tried in the local pub the other night, but when he'd tried to introduce himself, she'd just looked up at him, startled, had frowned and brushed past; by the look on her face, someone or something had upset her. He'd looked around, but that little thief wasn't there, or any of the other cons, and he couldn't see anything that should have upset her, but, no matter. He'd just try in a place where they'd have more privacy.

He frowned to himself. He still didn't know how that con had gotten out; he was sure Major Denning hadn't intended for him to be released anytime soon, but when he got back from his staff meeting, intending on perhaps another little chat, just as reinforcement you know, remembering just how much moral satisfaction he'd gotten from the first episode, the man was gone, supposedly retrieved by that Lieutenant Garrison, the one some were saying had gone rogue, joined in with that lot he was supposed to be handling, and was just as bad as they were anymore. Couldn't even count on the career officers holding the line any more, it seems! No matter, he was sure the thief had learned his lesson. If not, well, the Lieutenant was sure he'd be able to find a way to rectify that.

Odd about Major Denning, though, him being reassigned all of a sudden like that, and no one knowing the particulars of it, just him and two other officers gone one morning after HQ came to call; well, probably needed urgently on some special assignment; quality officers were increasingly hard to find. He'd not be surprised to find himself tapped for some special assignment himself any day now, it was only a matter of time til they acknowledged his true worth.

The Lieutenant paused at the front door, considered knocking, but remembered he'd been told she didn't really use that door, never answered it, just the garden entrance, so he made his way around and through the black iron gate. Of course, he'd also been told she didn't accept visitors; the villagers were quite firm about that when he'd made inquiries about her direction, had made quite a point of warning him away, but in his case, with all he'd done for her, well, that was a different matter entirely, wasn't it? Couldn't expect these yokels to understand such things, of course. Lucky he'd found that one chap who was willing to talk to him, in exchange for a drink, to find out how to get to that cottage on the outskirts of the village. No lights showing, not with the blackout shades in place, but the faint sound of music from inside told him she was there. He checked his pocket again, to be sure what he'd brought to show her was still there; of course, wasn't what really had been used, but she'd get the idea, he knew. He smiled in satisfaction at his cleverness in thinking of that.

He knocked, but there was no response. After the second knock, he turned the knob and it clicked open. Well, if she didn't want visitors, she'd have locked the door of course, so he made his way into the cottage, into a dark kitchen toward the dimly lit room beyond. He could see her now, bending over that guitar, singing ever so softly. He saw the expression on her face when she looked up to see him, realized he was there; he saw the surprise, the recognition, the growing smile, the intense pleasure appearing on her face, and knew he'd been right to come, to give her the chance to reward him properly. He could see she was right eager to do so.

The sounds of the ambulance peeled through the village, people rushing to the windows and doors to see where it was headed. Once it was pretty obvious, some went back to bed, figuring they'd hear the details on the morrow, nothing new, nothing worth losing sleep over most like. Many, though, especially those from the pub, followed the sound to the small cluster of cottages on the outskirts of the village, seeking to share in the excitement. They stood, conversing rather casually considering there was an emergency vehicle with its lights shattering the dark night.

The air raid warden rushed up, "now, see here! Get those bloody lights out! Are you mad? What if Jerry sees that??!" and one of the workers mumbled an apology and reached inside to shut off the lights.

The village constable pulled up on his bicycle to get the lowdown, taking out his pad and pencil. "Now, lads, what's the to do? Same as usual, or something special this time? It's not the lass what's hurt?" he asked with concern of one of the emergency crew, Big Mike, who'd been here before on more than one occasion, who had begun to find these trips to be of somewhat grim amusement. He'd even started a pool about when the next time would be, and the injuries suffered by the offenders. The constable doubted it would be the girl, hoped it wasn't, he was fond of her, as were most in the village, the exceptions being those who'd thought to take advantage only to discover she was neither a fool or forgiving of those mistaking her for one.

"Same as usual, Ben; some fool decided to come a callin' on the O'Donnell lass, and she took exception. No matter how plain she makes it, how many warnings we put out there, how much you here in the village try to give the wink, they just won't learn. This idiot, now, some Yank officer, half out of it, he is, but keeps telling us that she should have been grateful to him, don't know why she wasn't grateful."

Big Mike gave a hurummph and shook his head in amusement, "she says he made a bit of a try at the pub the other night, and others here saw that as well, and she let him know then that she wasn't interested. So he shows up here tonight, comes in through the back door when she didn't answer his knocks, and, well, she showed him grateful, she did, and right nicely too. He must have really gotten out of line, she's left him a bloody mess! AND she's pressing charges, Ben, she made that quite clear; first time for that, usually she figures the trouncing is punishment enough. But this time, she's more than a bit pissed! Quite a hissy she had, too; says she's bloody tired of these idiots thinking they can make themselves welcome; that when she's fine with someone coming to call, that someone will know it well enough, no doubt, and everyone else, anyone else not bloody SURE of their welcome AND willing to risk her wrath if they guess wrong, well they needs to keep their selves out of her place and out of her way!! Says next time she might not bother to call us, just dump them out in the road to bleed, though she wouldn't, she's a good lass for all of being a bit peppery. Can't blame her; it's known she don't lead the lads on, she keeps to herself, minds her own business; has a right to not have these bloody fools littering up the place, disturbing her peace."

"And this one, Ben, you'd best know," in a lowered voice, "he came in with a pair of handcuffs, and well, why'd he bring them along if not to use them, eh? That's a bit out of the ordinary even for something like this! Hate to think about if he'd happened onto one of the other lasses in the village, one not so able to take care of themselves! It could have been a right different story, it could have been! Seems she's done us a bit of a favor getting him out of the way." Ben thought of his own Mollie, just eighteen now, and nodded grimly; his daughter wouldn't have been able to handle something like this, nor any of the others he could think of, he thought.

"Word has it there's someone who DOES come to call, that she DON'T send away," one of the bystanders said, in the eagerly sly tone of voice showing he was trying to further a bit of gossip along, was probably the source of such gossip in the first place; indeed he'd been the source of the directions the Yank had received earlier in the evening.

The constable frowned at the speaker, firmly discouraging that sort of troublemaking talk, "well, maybe she do, maybe she don't, that's her business, now ain't it, Doby? She's the right. And I don't recall her asking anyone's opinion about it either, or inviting anyone to be doing any tittle tattle! Keep it up and she might have a word with you too, and I don't expect you'll enjoy that one bit! Nor will I lift a hand to stop her! She surely didn't put out a Welcome Mat to this one, or to any of the others who came bothering her, though, and she's no reason to put up with it!"

Doby slunk off, mouth turned down in a deep pout, that little bit not turning out near so well as he'd hoped. Indeed, he really hoped they didn't mention his name to the woman! A right mean little bitch she was, in his opinion, remembering some of their previous encounters!

They fell silent as the trolley with the moaning body on it wheeled past, to be placed into the ambulance and driven away, this time with no lights going. The crowd dispersed, some back to their homes, the rest back to the pub for a last round. He sighed and shook his head, and moved to enter the darkened cottage; a shadowy figure came up to meet him, "allo, Ben. Sorry for the commotion so late at night," she said quietly.

"Not your fault, lass. You've taken no damage?" and received a small snort in reply.

"Not on my part. A bit of house breakage, nothing that can't be fixed, nothing I won't be billing the Yanks for," and she gave a tiny laugh; he chuckled in return. "Ben, this one . . ."

"Yes, I heard you're wanting to press charges; Yanks might be coming around to try and talk you out of it, him being an officer and all. Best be prepared."

"I will be, Ben, but I'll not be changing my mind." They went inside, she closed the doors, making sure the blackout shades were still in place, and turned up the light. The constable took a good look around, noting with a chill the bloody handcuffs on the rug and gathered them into a clean dishtowel she provided. He made notes of the breakage, and all else, including her shattered guitar and blood bespattered housedress, bid her goodnight, after ascertaining that, no, she didn't feel the need to come spend the night with him and his wife. Well, he hadn't thought she would, but he felt the need to offer, and knew Alice would have been wroth with him if he hadn't, her having more than a soft spot for the girl as well, aye and for the man the two of them rather thought she had a true caring for. He'd meant what he told Doby, who she chose to allow inside her house, to spend time, well that was her own business, and not anyone else's. Him and the others up at the Mansion, well, they might have their faults, a bit rowdy perhaps, but no real trouble out of them, nothing like what they had with some of the Yanks from the Base, certainly nothing like the trouble this Yank Lieutenant thought to bring to his village!

And so in the morning, early, she made the call to Major Richards. As she waited for his Aide to bring him to the phone, she poured herself another cup of coffee.

{"Hadn't figured out how to deal with that bastard yet. How absolutely lovely of that idiot to actually come avisiting on his own, AND after others seeing him try to get close to me at the pub and me turn him away. Ben says he was even heard asking about me at the pub earlier last night, getting my direction and all, and them trying to warn him off. When he stepped up next to me, introduced himself at the pub . . . has to have a goodly number of inches on Goniff, as tall as Actor even, and built heavy too, whereas my laddie is not! So brave of him, that was, with Goniff being metal-bound and all. Nasty, bloody, right self-impressed Jack Bastard that he is! Bless his arrogant little heart! And bringing those cuffs along with him! Couldn't have asked for anything better if I'd tried. . ., and I didn't even have to raise a finger. Well, until he walked through the door, anyway, and that was a pure pleasure!"} and she thought about those bruises and cuts and such she'd seen on her Englishman taken on her behalf, and how those had been repaid, and she gave a contented little sigh and smiled.

"Oh, hello, Kevin. Sorry to disturb you so early, but thought you should know, there was a bit of bother last night. Fraid I rather mussed one of the Yank officers from the base." She listened to his moans and groans and lecture for awhile, sipping at her coffee, munching a piece of toast, spooning on a bit extra of the bitter marmalade she preferred over the sweet.

"Yes, well, I left him alive, which is more than I wanted to, you need to understand, all out of consideration for you." She pictured his face at that, and her smile widened to a grin. "You might need to have a word with them; I'm pressing charges, and I'm told they might 'apply pressure' to get around that. That would not end well, I have to tell you. I'm not much in charity with them at the moment." She giggled softly to herself as she listened to his tirade on the other end of the phone, taking another sip of coffee, licked the last of the butter and jam from her saucer with the very tip of her tongue, rather like a cat, leaning back in her chair, also stretching a bit like a cat, or maybe like a Dragon.

When he shifted to cajoling her to leave things alone, not take any more action, her jaw tightened. A bit more sternly now, "Kevin, I don't think you quite understand. I'd already let him know at the pub a few nights ago, quite firmly, that I had no interest in him. He came into my home, unannounced and uninvited, well after dark, with me already dressed for the night, through a closed door, and he didn't come looking for a cup of tea, mind you! The bloody fool pulled out a pair of handcuffs, for pity's sake! I didn't kill the bastard; I called the ambulance, the constable; for me, that's doing rather well, I'd say."

Then her voice got very cold, very quiet,"I do mean it, Kevin, he got off lucky." Her voice lowered, became a snarl, "bloody bastard told me I should 'be grateful', he was 'doing me a favor'."

And the silence on the other end of the phone said it all. She could almost hear him thinking of what could have happened, offering up thanks that the Yank officer was still breathing.

{"Not for his sake, of course, he sounds like a bloody fool, as well as a rank bastard, but the fallout would be rather embarrassing, I suppose, never mind the paperwork!"} Richards thought. "Should I ask how bad?"

"You can check with the hospital about HIM, I suppose; I've no interest in doing so. I'll have to have the rugs cleaned, certainly, if they CAN be cleaned, and replace a few things that got ruined, including my second best guitar and my favorite housedress, all of which I WILL bill the Yanks for, I promise! Shall I direct any callers to you?"

A deep sigh, "do that, and I'll do what I can on this end to see if I can cut them off before they get that far. Enough we have one man in the hospital, no need to add others, especially those just trying to do their job," he sighed. After he hung up, he sat staring at the phone. {"Those Yanks officers at that base are getting to be a real issue, first those three being picked up for profiteering, possibly more, now this one . . ."} He frowned, thinking over that call, wondering at something in her voice, in the way she phrased certain things, wondering, but knowing he'd be better off not following that line of inquiry. Knowing he'd be much happier that way.

Heaving a deep sigh, he called to his Aide, "Get me the commander of the Yank Air Base near Brandonshire, please. Yes, right away. Seems we have something to discuss before we find the war's opened up on yet another front." 

The resulting conversation led to Major Richards promising to take a look into things, just to keep the commander out of it, him being a bit gun shy right now with everything else that'd been going on, and Kevin owing him a favor anyway on another count. Kevin sighed, hanging up the phone. "One more thing added to my list of things to do, as if it wasn't long enough already!" He made a few calls, set up some interviews, and by morning was ready to undertake the very limited investigation he planned on.

By the next afternoon, he was in his office, leaning back in his chair, firm grip on a glass of Scotch, talking to the commander again. It was his second drink, not his usual custom, but this day had seemed to demand it; he intended to add a third once he got back to his quarters and off duty.

"I'd personally suggest paying the damages she presents, they won't be unreasonable; she's not the type. She's an accomplished musician, though, so that guitar would have been quality, so it might come a bit dear. Don't let your bookkeepers try to fob her off with anything less than her due. As for him, well . . ."

He took a sip, heaved a deep sigh, relaxed from his more formal demeanor, "Joe, this looks like it came at the start of what could been something really nasty; at least, I sincerely HOPE this was the start, and not something he's made a practice of! The MP he borrowed the handcuffs from, and I had a stern word with him about THAT, I assure you, said he was told Carloff was going to take them to illustrate a point with someone, one of the local women; thought she'd be impressed. Told me he wouldn't have loaned them over if he'd known then what he'd heard since, that the Major had apparently taken it upon himself to beat a shackled prisoner just a few days prior. Shows a nasty streak, I certainly think, don't you? And yes, I did trace that back, and I have corroboration. Not only beat the man, but came back later intending to repeat the process, and upset the man had been released in the meantime. No, no charges there, best leave that alone, don't think it will be coming back to haunt you, but does show his way of thinking, I'd say. Just our good luck he picked the woman he did."

He listened to the commander squawk at him, and gave a little laugh, "yes, I know how that sounds, Joe, but she's one of ours, highly trained; I'd be careful taking her on myself. Furthermore, she's a reputation for not taking kindly to chaps trying anything on, AND he'd been warned away, by the villagers AND by her, and there's plenty on the Base that would have told him the same. Yes, Joe, THAT one! The one the constable mentioned to you. Shows what a bloody fool he was, to even give it a try! But, think about it, Joe. If it HADN'T been her he tried it on with, if it had been another of the local women, this would have ended differently, and you can just imagine how welcome your men would have been in that village or anywhere else once the word got out; could have been a major flap. And who knows how long it would have taken, how many would have been hurt or worse, before we found him out; you know when someone starts this sort of thing, they're not likely to stop til someone stops them."

He listened for awhile, "yes, I think she'll be content with that. But Joe, if he comes back here, well, it won't end well, I can tell you that. She's been one of our best, and she told me flat out he's only still alive out of her consideration for not wanting to give me more headaches! I'd not place too much reliance on her continuing to make that a priority! She's not THAT fond of me!"

He hung up the phone, thinking again about the interview with that soldier who'd corroborated the story about the beating. Thinking about the story the soldier had told, "didn't like it when I braced him, not at all; well, I know he outranked me by a lot, but that man he took his fists to, well, not just that he was shackled, hands and feet, and hands behind him even, but he was just a little guy, skinny and nowhere near the Lieutenant's size! Sounded like one of yours, sir, British, I mean, from what I could tell, but not quite the same accent, more like what I've heard when I've been on leave in London, not in the posh sections, but more common like. WAS wearing our khaki's, though. Plenty of pluck, not whimpering or wailing, just snarling and spitting back, but he didn't have a chance, not the way it was."

In response to a query, the soldier had given a few more details, "blond, for sure, past pale, but that might have been from the beating. Didn't see his eyes up close, but light, I think, which makes sense with the hair, doesn't it?" Unbidden the soldier had volunteered, "and don't know what business the Lieutenant should have had with the prisoner in the first place. It was Major Denning and his aides that had him brought in and confined til further notice. Funny, that, no official record kept, no charges that I know of, just 'hold him til I come for him. I want him kept out of the way for awhile.' Seemed odd. Just lucky the man's own commanding officer came in to fetch him before the Lieutenant came back down wanting another try at him; don't like to think on what might have happened. . . The officer? A Lieutenant he was, but I don't know that I caught his name. He was American though, blond, I know that, with a British Sergeant Major with him. The others on duty talked to him, they'd know his name. Do you want me to fetch them?" receiving a firm 'thank you, but that's not necessary," in return. 

Kevin took another sip from the glass in his hand. No, he didn't want anyone to tell him that American Lieutenant's name. He didn't want to look at those puzzle pieces laid out in notes on the pad in front of him. But look at them he did, several times, them drawing his eye, and finally, with an exasperated sigh, picked up the phone, "Private, let me know when Garrison's team gets back, and arrange for a car, I'll need to take a run down to Brandonshire to have a word with him. No, I don't want to do it here when they are being debriefed. I want it done there."

 

***

Sergeant Major was in an unusually talkative mood this morning while he was walking them over to the firing range, this first morning they'd been back from that mission Goniff had been such a vital part of. His battering had perhaps slowed him a little, but with the team depending on him, he got the job done, and quite nicely too. Even picked up a nice little trinket in passing, not that he intended to let Garrison know about that, and nothing to keep, just a fancy bit to deliver off to the fences; he'd split the ready with the team, as usual, just as they did now, them all needing to think about the future and such.

The Lieutenant had ruled out all other training this morning, knowing they needed time to just rest, but wanted to keep up some part of their routine, so the firing range it was. They weren't really listening to the non-com, just wanting to get this over with and go crash, maybe sleep for the next day or two, but he was too loud and stayed too close for them to be able to ignore him and his story entirely. Seems the Sergeant Major had been at the pub that night a few past, while they were gone, when all hell'd broken loose, had been in the crowd outside the cottage, and furthermore had talked to the constable that next day, getting more details. He was chatting to the Lieutenant, unusually perky smile on his homely face, almost bouncing in his enthusiasm, "ambulance comes racing through, lights flashing, could see them even through the blackout shades! Most goes following, me right along with them, thinking to tell that driver to turn those bloody lights off afore 'e leads Jerry right to us. Turns off to 'ead up to the O'Donnell cottage."

He paused to check the box of ammunition, glancing up out of the corner of his eye to make sure he had their attention. By the rapid turn of their heads, their concerned frowns, and the startled voices, raising questions, he knew he did. He quickly spoke up, most important thing first, him not being a mean sort, and the look on the little pickpocket's still badly bruised face being a most anxious one, "oh, the lass was fine, but the latest idiot who thought to come acalling, well, 'e's 'ospital bound of a certain. Some Yank officer from the base," noting slyly that no one was moving, all staring at him, silent now.

"A Lieutenant it was, would you believe?? Well, guess being an officer don't necessarily give you common sense. No secret the lass don't welcome callers, and seems this one told 'er she should be right grateful to 'im, like 'e was doing 'er a favor or something like that; told the ambulance crew that as well, quite clearly, well as clearly as he could, considering, 'she should 'ave been grateful!'"

He let out a snort, "more brass than brains, sure enough! Right out in front of the lot of them that night, she said it again, quite firmly, that what's commonly known, or bloody well should be after all this time. Said that when she's fine with someone coming to spend time, that one, well, 'e'd know it well enough without a doubt, and everyone else just needs to keep themselves outta 'er house, outta 'er way, aye, and their bloody opinions to themselves cause she 'ad no more patience for such behavior. Something starting with a 'C' it was, 'is name, I mean. Carstairs, Carden, Carloff, that's it, Carloff. Like that actor fellow, but spelled differently it seems." He reached down to bring out the pistols.

"She's pressing charges this time, not that the Yanks'll like that, begging your pardon, Sir. Seems a nasty sort, that one; Ben did some checking the next morning, seeings what he found inside bothered 'im more'n a bit; seems this Carloff 'as a friend what's an MP, borrowed a pair of 'andcuffs, brought them with 'im; not sure what 'e intended, nothin good, I'd think. The friend says 'e was told Carloff 'ad someone 'e wanted to just SHOW them to, to 'illustrate' something, 'owever likely THAT might be! That friend got a good bracing for lending them out! Seems this Carloff went after a prisoner not long ago, too; did some damage, too, what with the man being shackled and all. Nasty sort all round, sounds like. Anyway, she took em away and smashed 'im across the mug with em once or twice; left some right nasty marks they did, along with the rest, of which there was more than a mite; guess 'e was lucky, though, to think on it; as pissed as she was, Ben says 'e wouldn't 'ave been surprised if the doctors 'adn't 'ad to go alookin for them, one direction or another, if you know what I mean. Well, she's a good lass, a good 'eart, but a temper, to be sure; what Big Mike calls 'a bit peppery'; knows 'er own mind, always 'as, a good one on your side, but not one to get crosswise of."

It was a surprisingly good outing on the firing range; they all did quite well in spite of being so tired, the Lieutenant taking a turn even, which he didn't usually. Even seemed as if they were enjoying themselves, laughing and making little comments he was sure he hadn't a clue of what they meant, and Goniff shocked them all with keeping his eyes open and actually hitting the target every time, though the Sergeant Major had to admonish him, "yer supposed to be aiming at the 'ead or the 'eart, you know, maybe center, but not THERE!" to the combined laughter of all of the men, including the Lieutenant.

Somehow the abashed apology from their pickpocket, well, it didn't seem quite sincere. Maybe it was those six holes in the target, all so closely spaced low in a neat semi-circle. Maybe it was the warm look in his eye, maybe it was the cheeky grin he couldn't quite hide. Those didn't go so well with the bruises and the healing cuts, but there they were, for all that.

Garrison took one last look at that target, that tightly grouped, highly accurate pattern, and looked across the lawn at the little pickpocket making his way back to the Mansion with the others, half jogging to keep up with their longer steps; looked down at the target again, and a very thoughtful, slightly suspicious look crossed his face. Then he sighed and shook his head, amused at what had flashed through his mind, {"I really need to get some sleep!"}

***

The staff car came through the gates unannounced, the first Garrison hearing about it being the voice on the intercom. "Sorry to disturb you sir, but Major Richards is on his way up. I told him you were in the middle of a debriefing, but he says it'll only take a moment." Garrison frowned, looking around the room, his men gathered around the big table with the maps and photos laid out, the tripod showing the blueprints to the facility they successfully infiltrated.

"Trouble?" Actor asked softly.

"I hope not," Garrison replied, turning as the door to the common room opened and the stuffy British Major strode through.

He paused looking at each of them, nodded, "Garrison, men". That was a sight different than he would have addressed them earlier in their acquaintance, but he'd worked with them, had respect for them and their skills, if no real common ground outside of that. He took particular note of the bruises and cuts on the face of their pickpocket and second story man, seeing the way those blue eyes shifted away from his. Well, none of them were going out of their way to make eye contact, even Garrison making heavy work of it.

Richards pursed his lips, sighed and opened his attache case, pulling out a bottle of good Scotch, not the very best, mind you, but quite drinkable, certainly not military issue. "Thought you might find a use for this," seeing their looks change from noncommittal to suspicious. He let his eyes wander back to his fellow Englishman's battered face, inquired as casually as he could manage, "rough mission?" to receive a noncommittal shrug. Richards sighed, "yes, well, the world can be a dangerous place, can't it? Unexpectedly so, at times." He chatted with Garrison for a few minutes and then left.

The men exchanged puzzled frowns, "now just what the hell was that about?" Casino asked.

"I don't know, Casino, and I think I'm probably better off that way," came the reply from their leader.

As the staff car pulled away, Kevin Richards debated stopping by the Cottage, to have a chat with her, then shook his head firmly. "Drive on, back to London," he told his driver, thinking to himself with a sigh, {"I don't know, not for sure, and I think I'm probably better off that way."} He did know he'd not lose any sleep over Denning and his aides, and certainly none over this Carloff.

***

He was back climbing over her wall that evening, and hardly able to make it over as tired as he was, but needing to see her so much as to make the effort, no matter how hard. There was the gate, of course, but somehow, he never thought of that til he was over and settled!

She also had just returned, different mission, brief but exhausting, just a couple of hours ago, kit not even unpacked, just gotten cleaned up, hair still damp and hanging down her back, barefoot and tucked into a fresh housedress, and weary to the bone, no real sleep since the night that fool had come to call.

He came in, she made tea, they sat and chatted quietly, and somehow ended up half drowsing, still talking, too tired for anything else to happen, sitting on that thick plush rug in the sitting room she'd moved in to replace the one so stained from that night. When she awoke, feeling the chill in the air, feeling him next to her, she reached up to the chair, pulling off the big quilt she'd left up there, easing it over them, touching her lips, the very tip of her tongue to his throat, {"tobacco, tea, whiskey, ripe strawberries, wild honey,"} nestled her head back onto his shoulder where it had been, hearing him murmur in his sleep, and with a contented smile, inhaled deeply and went back to sleep, drowsily thinking, {"sweet sage, mint, musk, wolf, home, yes".}

Hours later Garrison stood, looking down on them. He'd come searching when her phone didn't answer; that was explained when he found it half off the hook in the kitchen. Now, seeing them curled together under that quilt, seeing the weariness but also the peace, the contentment on their faces, he found himself smiling. He saw her eyelids flutter, and she looked up at him, becoming alert.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, truly meaning it, "we have a mission, I need him back at the Mansion for a briefing," seeing his resident pickpocket move, start to rouse at Garrison's voice. Repeating his message, he waited til Goniff shook the sleep from his head, and soon, after a brief farewell, passed by him, groggily, on the way out the kitchen door.

Something in the closeness of the space, of the silence of the misty pre-dawn, urged Garrison to lean his head closer to that tousled blond head as it moved past him, inhale deeply, and - not so much a physical scent, more a scent of what lay beneath the physical - {"sage, mint, musk, and more, yes"} and he looked back to see her watching him, a wry smile of something on her weary face, a acknowledgement, a welcome, he didn't quite know what.

He shook his head, and headed out to join Goniff, now already waiting, shifting to get comfortable in the passenger seat of the jeep. Somehow, the thought crossed his mind, {"I wonder if the rest of it is true, too - tobacco, tea, whiskey, ripe strawberries, wild honey,"} and he looked over at the slight man in the seat beside him, already asleep again. {"I wonder."} And he tried not to interpret the shudder that passed through him, the wisp of longing that teased at his heart.


End file.
